


for better or worse ( till death do us part )

by orphan_account



Series: magician's are supposed to be smarter than this [4]
Category: Now You See Me
Genre: Divorce, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Miscarriage, angst all around
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-22 23:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7457734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Comeback tours aren't fun when you're in a magic troupe with your ex-wife and the faint memory of the children you were supposed to have lingers in the back of your mind like the flask of whiskey in Merritt's pocket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. before the madness

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys. this story kinda has a backstory to it. so a couple nights ago I had a dream that I was married but I lost my children in a miscarriage— James and Charlotte. after that my husband divorced me and I ended up never speaking to him again until a school reunion. he asked me out after that and then I woke up. now, I'm not even at an age where children and marriage are supposed to be a big deal but this shook me up a lot because some of my relatives did have a hard time having kids. so please tell me your thoughts on this and on this story. thanks.  
> Grace

They met in New York and fell in love in London and everywhere else Dylan managed to drag them. 

They get married underneath the Thames and they're celebrating their second anniversary when Dylan wants to whisk Jack away for a propo. 

That's when they start writing letters.

Flimsy ones, stuck in cheap envelopes even though they're goddamn millionaires. China, Sumatra, Oklahoma, Dubai, godforsaken Turkey once, opened in solitude, fingers running over the curly slopes of their 's's and 'y's. 

Lula's letters smell faintly of soap and flowers, and Jack's of smoke and leather. 

They're apart, and yet they carry something belonging to the other, not just the rings on their hands, but a piece of the other's heart. 

Love it is. Love at it's finest. 

But then again, it was never going to last, was it ? 

Lula tells him she's pregnant on the third of December, and for a while all he thinks is 'What did I ever do to deserve this ?'.

The answer's given to him four months later on the seventeenth of April. 

It was all nursery room color swatches ( lavender for Natasha and light green for Lucas ) and choosing godparents ( Henley and Merritt for Natasha and Dylan and Alma for Lucas, Danny could be a godfather by marriage once he got his shit together ) and then suddenly everything, just everything, was red and screaming and "Jack, the babies !". 

And then they were gone. 

Lucas and Natasha, loved, loved so goddamn dearly, so goddamn much, only to be taken away. Lucas and Natasha, theirs. 

Lula's face is pale and emotionless as she sits upright on the hospital bed. The doctor says "miscarriage" once, and she snaps. 

"They were not miscarried ! They were loved, and loved, and loved and yet you say miscarried ! Miscarried— not carried, and they were ! They were !" She screams. "Get out !" 

The doctor mutters her apologies before scurrying out of the room, sparing a sympathetic glance at Jack, that just makes his blood boil and his hands shake, because how dare she ? How dare she look at him like he's a pity sad case because he's not. He lost his children. He lost his children and that doesn't make him a charity case. It makes him angry, grief-stricken, sad could be mustered up. 

His wife is broken, and he can see it. Her eyes are dark and they don't say a thing, but her posture screams hurt, pain, and "Oh God, this was my fault." before Jack can tell her that it's not. 

His five best friends, his Horsemen, are waiting outside on uncomfortable hospital chairs. 

He can see Henley's red-tinged eyes as she leans on Danny's shoulder. The man is looking down at the floor, thinking, "God, why them ? Why them ?". Merritt's swinging back whiskey straight from the bottle and Jack can just tell, because Lula always was and always will be his favorite, that he's taking this hard, Lula's his best friend and Jack's his man, and goddamnit, he was going to co-parent children. Dylan's pacing in front of his team, his feet creating implants on the floor and Alma, Alma, sweet Alma's sobbing on the chairs. Alma, stoic, Alma, is crying over the children her friends would never hold, never have. 

He snaps his vision back to his wife, because goddamnit he needs to be strong for all six of them. 

It's not long before his pre-thought idea all goes to hell because his wife is screaming out, and crying, and sobbing, over the children she would never get to hold, the children she would never get to smile at, the children she would never get to cradle in her arms and swear that she would never, ever, leave them, because God, she loves them, she motherfucking loves them. 

He tries to reach out to her but she jerks away, and he thinks, that's the beginning of the end, right there. 

Jack's not a religious man, but he storms out of the room, ignoring all of his friends in the waiting room, and walks into the hospital chapel. 

He yells, and he motherfucking cries because God, they were children. His children, their children, and why the fuck did God have to take them ? They were theirs and He took them away. 

And then he gets on his knees, right in front of the altar and prays. He prays that this won't break them, that this won't hurt so much it kills him, that this won't hurt so much it kills her, that this won't ruin everything, but he knows it's all false pretenses. 

He prays the most that he'll get to keep her. It's selfish, he knows, but he wasn't really truly breathing before Lula came into his life, all smiles and jokes and wallet and belt and peanut stealing. 

He wants their children, but goddamnit he loves her. 

It doesn't really shock him, however, when she files for divorce two weeks later. 

But God, he'd hoped, hoped that she'd stay, for him, because he had this small hope that he was enough, but he wasn't.

He signs the papers and on that same day, he writes the last letter he'll ever write her, sealing them away in the envelope she had kept, the one he had written his first letter to her. 

She never writes back.


	2. these words are my diary, screaming out loud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay guys ! I got into school again around a week ago and haven't had the time to update ! so here's chapter 2 of for better or worse ( till death do us part ) ! love you all, thank you so much for waiting on this chapter and words can't describe how grateful I am that you've actually read the author note till here.   
> x G

His children were supposed to be born on the twelfth of July. 

Lucas James and Natasha Charlotte Wilder were supposed to be born on the twelfth of July, and yet, they're not here. 

Jack pretends to not notice when Henley slips a bottle of bourbon on the table in front of him. He also pretends to not notice when Alma gives him a hug goodbye a tad longer than usual, and how Merritt offers to get coffee, and how Danny doesn't pester him the whole day. 

He does acknowledge how no one speaks of her. Lula May. A lifetime ago, Lula May - Wilder. 

For once, he's grateful she isn't around because God, she was his once. She was his wife, his best friend, his person, his anchor, and everything in between. 

She was the mother of his children. His nonexistent children, he reminded himself. 

Lucas and Natasha Wilder, fancy names for kids of a hustler and a used-to-be street magician, kids of the unworthy. 

Well, that one's a lie, because goddamnit, Lula deserved them. 

Lucas and Natasha Wilder, he thinks, a boy with his hair and her eyes, and a girl with her hair and his eyes, children he would've carried in his arms, swore to never leave, promise to love forever until infinity. 

Curses, he pulls the top of the liquor and takes a generous swig, ignoring the bitter scorch down his throat, because that's just another wound time'll heal, and everything else he's felt for three months will never heal, no matter how many counseling classes he goes to, no matter how many bottles he throws, no matter how much it motherfucking hurts. 

His children. Damn it, he was supposed to be a dad. 

He doesn't hate her. He can't. But yet, God, he can pretend to detest her, detest very fibre of her being, detest every single thing she does, detest every thing associated to her, every single moment, every single object, every single person. 

But he just really can't, because she was everything, still is everything, always will be everything. God only knows how much he loves her, because he fucking gave her away for her. 

She wanted out, he gave her out. She wasn't happy with him, and he guessed that that would be okay, because she would be without him, hopefully, or else he's been crying after too many shots of scorching alcohol, and pulling baby blankets on his bed and just staring at them for goddamn nothing. 

Dylan announces a comeback tour three days later. "It's been near to three years." He says, "The Eye wants it." 

And that's how it always is and how it always will be. The Eye wants it ? We do it. 

The Eye is making him reconnect with the wife he once had, the memories still intact in his head. 

He tries to seem nonchalant, a not-so eager yes escaping his lips before Danny could say that they would think about it. 

Henley shrugs, an obvious look of concern flashing in his eyes, because he's her brother, and she's his sister, and she'd do everything and nothing to make him happy, to make him the way he used to be.

His sister exchanges a look with Merritt, who nods reluctantly, and Danny speaks for all of them when he repeats Jack's answer. 

Dylan claps his hands, that bastard, and then says something, something he's dreading him to say. 

"We have to go pick up Lula now." 

"Why do we have to ?" Henley demands, "I'm back, and it doesn't really seem like she wants in anymore. She's been gone for forever." 

"She's a Horseman. The Eye made her a Horseman, and you all have to deal with it. Lula's coming, and none of you can do anything about it." Dylan says, and that's that. 

He's seeing his ex-wife in two days, no matter how much Hen protests for him, no matter if they change their minds and say no. 

That's that. That's motherfucking it. He had hoped he would see his wife–ex-wife, under different circumstances— tearful regrets, a much needed one night stand, anything rather than this, to be trapped with their emotions in the same room as the other. 

He muses, as they pull up in the house they used to share, that the ulterior looks horrible. Gray, musty walls and mothballs on the windows, the flowers she had grown for the letters wilted and dead on the dry soil, cracks of nothingness in between as they step on the cobbled stones, the stones that had once been the sign of home, now a symbol of regret, of what could've been if it had gone right. 

Dylan rings the doorbell, but Jack knows better than to trust Lula on answering the door. He slips past the troupe and reaches behind the dead flowers and brandishes a key, unlocking the door and walking into what used to be his home, their home. 

Dylan hesitantly walks in, to be followed by Danny and Henley, Merritt trailing in slowly while slugging back the bourbon he had found in the cushion of Dylan's car. 

"Lula ?" Henley says, looking around the seemingly dead house. 

"Lula ?" Danny does the same, creeping slowly to the living room. 

"Lula ?" Dylan peeks his head to the kitchen.

"Lulabear ?" Merritt reluctantly does the same, walking up the staircase. Jack follows suit. 

They open the door to the bedroom and a ghastly scene awaits them.

Jack's face pales, but goddamnit, his face isn't as pale as hers.

She looks like death itself, underneath the duvet like it's trapping her, hands curled on top of the cloth, gripping it like she's trying to get away. 

"Lula, oh God." He doesn't feel himself moving until he's next to her, pulling the duvet away. 

Her skin is gray and her lips are cracked and dry. She looks right through him, and her hair is a matted mess. 

He picks her up, carries her to the bathroom and splashes water on her face. 

He carries her back downstairs, where Henley's eyes tinge red at the sight of the woman she used to be the closest to and where Danny has to take a step back and look away because this isn't the same woman who had broken into his apartment and escaped all of his stupid tricks. 

Merritt trails down slowly before handing a torn piece of paper to Jack. 

He leaves Lula in the care of his friends and walks outside, opening the carefully folded paper.

Jack, 

At least I hope you're the one who finds me. Hen, if it's you, do be a dear and hand it over to Jack, yes, you need to stop reading now. Same goes for you, Danny, or Merritt or Dylan or Alma. 

Jack, our kids were supposed to come into the world today, I didn't forget. Twelfth of July, Lucas and Natasha were supposed to be here with us, on hospital beds, so small you'd be afraid to hold. 

Lucas and Natasha, our everythings. And yet they're not here, neither of them are. And God, Jack, how I wish they were. Our children, angels they were, but they aren't here with us because of me. I was doing too much, walking around too much, and then they were just gone. Lucas and Natasha, loved so freaking dearly by us, by their uncles and aunts, gone, but not, no, never, forgotten. 

I want to be gone with them. 

I'm their mother, their mother. I want to be gone with them. I need to be there with them, protect them. I need them to know that we love them. I'll tell them stories about you, their great Daddy, who loved them so much he let go. 

And Jack, just know that we were in love, we really were, and you were enough, but I wasn't, and won't ever be for someone as bright as you. 

That's all, I think, and do tell Hen, Merbear, Danny, Dylan and Alma that I love them. 

And one last thing Jack, I love you. 

Lula 

He shakes his head when he finishes reading, crushing the paper in his fist and biting back a scream. 

He's sat on the porch steps when Merritt comes out. 

"Jack-Jack, you gotta come back in, she's awake." The older man urges, kicking his friend's slumped form. 

Jack doesn't say anything, just looks emotionless and stares out to whatever he's looking at, thoughts of 'I'm sorry', 'this is all my fault' and 'she says she loves me'.

Merritt reluctantly sits down beside him, lacing his hands together. 

"Lulabear loves you. Always had, always will, and that's just how it's always gonna be." He starts, getting the younger man's attention. "And you love her, no matter how many times you protest against it. She's everything to you. And Natasha and Lucas, they were everything too, but to you, she was a bigger everything. You wanted them, but you love her. Now, you have to come in and help her, because she's dying. She's dying right now and she needs you."

Jack gets up on his feet. "You're surprisingly good at that, you know." 

"Hidden talent." Merritt says, a small bitter smile forming on his lips. He strays behind Jack as the younger man enters the house he used to call home. 

Jack breathes in a breathe of rotting fruit and drinks in the sight of his ex-wife, as pale and ghostly as she is. 

She looks blankly back at him.

This is going to be hard, but if there's something Jack Wilder can do, it's try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment on your thoughts ! love you all !   
> x G


End file.
